#Union Docs

[muxas-world]

Hot girls shouldn't fight isnted they shoould realize they got a lot on comon example both are lesbians+ have gay dogs

[extraordinary-heroes]

Amazing Spider-Man: Ends of the Earth Vol 1 #1 (Cover art by Sebastian Fiumara)

[daily-europestuck]

Doc Scatrch as the EU

Day 64: Doc ScrEUtch

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 1 / 31 * MOUNTAIN DEW HAT MAN 」

November 12, 1955

“No, I can’t stay. I told Ronnie I’d be home after work to give him the news about whether or not Marty really existed or this was the longest-running prank in history. He’s been just as interested as we were ever since I brought it up.” Walter chuckles, scrawling his signature on the day’s log. “He’ll be happy to know he was right. Kept trying to convince me that he’d be there—you’ll see, Dad. Even had a little bet of our own going—”

“And you lost that one too.” Kenneth barks out a deep, rumbling laugh that very nearly shakes the foundations of the building.

“I still can’t believe it. How the hell could a seventy-year-old letter know the exact time, date, and location that some kid named Marty McFly would be standing there?”

“Beats me.” Kenneth smirks, mischief glimmering in his deep blue eyes, and Walter rolls his eyes, knowing exactly the turn the conversation is about to take. “Maybe he’s an alien. Or a time-traveller on a secret mission and this kid’s his partner.”

Time-traveller. Those two words wind themselves around every nerve and muscle, rooting themselves so deeply into his mind Walter isn’t sure he’ll ever get them out of his head.

It’s crazy talk. Just like everything that Marty kid said.

Kenneth quirks a brow when the normally quick retort is nowhere to be found.

“—Yeah, right. And I’m a mind-reader.” Walter stands, retrieving his still-damp hat and coat from the coatrack by the door. “You’re watching too much Science Fiction Theatre.”

“I don’t see you offering any better explanations. And we know from that state of that old thing and the letterhead of the instruction letter that this wasn’t a joke. Or if it was, it’s a damn good forgery. Think about it. You said the kid started talking crazy after you gave him the letter, didn’t you?” Kenneth’s voice deepens, holding an air of secrecy and conspiracy meant for their ears only. He steeples his fingers, both elbows now propped up on the desk as his thick brows pull together in intense concentration.

“He’s a teenager. They’re all talking crazy. Even Ronnie, sometimes.”

There’s a look on Kenneth’s face that says he doesn’t agree, but if he has any further thoughts on the matter, he keeps them to himself, offering little more than a shrug and a drawn-out sigh. “Suit yourself. Go on, get out of here. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. The whole office is going to be waiting to hear about this, you know. Tell Ronnie I said hi.”

“I will. By the way, you think you can try and find the name of whoever it was that left that letter here? The box said it came all the way from corporate; someone’s name is attached to it. There must be a record somewhere.”

 “You want me to dig through seventy years’ worth of records to find something that might not even exist?”

“If anyone can—”

Kenneth rolls his eyes, resignation flickering across his face and sagging his shoulders. “God damn—fine. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Thanks.” Kenneth mumbles something that Walter doesn’t catch as he puts his hat on and steps outside to his car, letting the night’s strange meeting play out on repeat in his mind for the twenty-minute drive home.

The living room lights are still switched on and the moment Walter opens the front door, Ronnie all but leaps up off the couch, nearly losing his glasses in the process. “So? Was he really there?” Walter chuckles at his son’s enthusiasm, having expected exactly this moment he stepped through those doors. Ronnie had been almost more excited about it than the boys in the office, eagerly anticipating the night of 12 November with the same fervour as he would his birthday.

“C’mon, Dad,” Ronnie demands to his father’s back as he removes and hangs up his coat for what, hopefully, is the final time tonight. “Did that Marty guy show up?” Did I win the bet?

“He did,” Walter finally answers, dropping down into the armchair with a groan. Ronnie’s eyes widen and before he can get even a single one of the multitude of questions untangled from the knot they’ve twisted themselves into on his tongue out, his father continues, seemingly having plucked the questions right out of his mind.

“Exactly like the instruction letter said he would. Right time, right description, right place—everything.” Kenneth’s words rattle around Walter’s mind again as Ronnie beams, shouting triumphantly to the tune of I told you! I knew it!

“What’d it say? You saw it, right? You gotta tell me everything.”

 —

May 21, 1986

That's him again, Ronald muses at the increasingly familiar sound of the thud of what three prior incidents already have taught him is hands grabbing onto the back of his Jeep.

Ronald glances over his shoulder and just like the last several times, the kid nods his acknowledgement and appreciation for the ride yet never says a word. This is becoming a pattern now, always on weekdays if his memory serves him correctly, and if nothing else, he should at least know the name of the kid he’s been ferrying around throughout the town.

“You ever think about getting a car of your own? They’ve got some cheap ones I’m sure even a student can afford.” Young kid, backpack slung over his shoulders—must be a high school student. He blinks, pulling the headphones off his ears. “You keep this up I’m going to start charging you for the ride.”

The kid throws him a winning smile. “Nah, I’ve got a car.” Ronald scrunches his brows together, wondering just what the hell the kid is doing grabbing onto the backs of cars and doing something so dangerous when he’s got a car of his own to get him around. If it were broken, maybe in the shop—

But this isn’t the first time.

“Did you ever—?” He eases into a left turn and behind him, the kid leans into it, unfazed. Ronald quirks a brow, waiting for him to finish whatever question he’d started, but he never does, continuing on as if the question had never been a thought in his mind. “Driving’s great, but sometimes I just—it’s not the same as putting on headphones and feeling the wind on my face as I’m skateboarding, you know? Helps me think.”

The kid almost looks surprised when he answers, “Yeah, I think I do,” and Ronald smiles at that.

“Oh—we’re almost at my stop. Hey, thanks. For, uh, not trying to shake me off or call the cops or something.”

He slows the car down as the driver ahead of him attempts to turn off onto a side street. “Before you go—what’s your name, kid?”

He hits the car twice with his hand before kicking off, shouting “It’s Marty! Marty McFly!”

[sounds-void-fishy]

Hello jeh, I send this ask to kindly ask and or suggest a name for our movement/thing (I can't put into words all this union/revolution/president/leader/group of the two and more of us here).

So as said above, I suggest we call it "Maggotism", as in "Socialism" or "Communism" or "Capitalism".

Kindly,

Yours truly,

Tefi.

wholeheartedly support this! maggotism is perfect. i presume we are anti capitalism but as we are a budding movement i dont think we need specifics beyond that other than love thy fellow maggot

in the words of victor hugo, “the people seizing their rights again, what a beautiful spectacle"

[rosie-kairi]

Strelitzia's alarm blares as she blearily blinks her eyes open.

She's met with a view of the window (as always), a clear shot of the skyline. It would've been a beautiful view, had she not already seen it a thousand times over.

Strelitzia groans and shuts the alarm off as she buries her head into her pillow. She doesn't want to get up today, like, she really doesn't. The fluffy sheets of her bed provide a sense of safety and comfort that she's pretty sure can only be found in her room. She doesn't want to get out of bed, she wants to go to sleep and never wake up, never have to set a foot outside of her room again. Because leaving her room meant danger. Because leaving her room meant that he would be waiting, and that he would rush to her like a worried parent and suffocate her with his overbearingness.

Whether she stayed in bed or not didn't make a difference, though. He would eventually come in, worried about her oversleeping. He'd scold her for staying up too late -like he had any right to do that, to act like he cared- and just pick her up out of bed and haul her over his shoulder like a sack of flour into the kitchen (it was some kind of facsimile of a childhood activity, something Strelitzia remembered from when she was a baby, when she was still light enough to be picked up like that by her family).

Strelitzia did not feel like fighting a losing battle that day, so she grit her teeth and hoisted herself out of bed, to her bedroom door, and out of the sanctuary of her room.

She immediately heard the sizzling of a pan over a stove accompanied by a light humming, just like she expected.

Strelitzia dragged herself into the kitchen to see him standing there, faced away from her. Strelitzia stepped on the same creaky floorboard she always did to alert him of her presence (there had been something similar back in their home in Daybreak Town), and he turns to her.

He smiles at her, the expression not quite reaching his empty blue eyes.

"Good morning sleepyhead!" He says, the cadence of his voice sounding a bit off. "I made pancakes!"

You always do, Strelitzia wants to say, but instead she asks "Did you add chocolate chips?" because the thing in front of her was a ticking time-bomb that would threaten to blow at the slightest snide comment.

He smiles, "Of course I did, when have I ever not?"

Good point.

[stiles-wilkolak]

Painted my grandmother's clan tartan on my left boot yesterday, did the union Jack the day before, and I tell you, I'll never do it again! (Probably will tho cuz it turned out really good)

[xiaoddexingjiutang]

Updated chapter 10.Professor Anna Baranova come to talk with Skyquake about their similar experience : Anna was trapped in the bottom of the sea for 28 years, Skyquake was in stasis for eons. they are both clever and defensive, hold an aggressive behavior for those who intrude their places, and feel missed out of the outside world.

I made professor Baranova's background : she moved to America from Soviet Union when she was a child, but Soviet Union is not more now.

[chasing-stardust-22]

Show of hands who is actually shocked q stans are once again trying to bury any evidence of his wrongdoings

[fuckmeyer]

I saw a post about racist Jasper stans bitching bc they’re not able to enjoy shitty J*sper content bc of tags or whatever lol and someone said: “What is there even to enjoy?”. I had to laugh and I thought if you bc it’s so true. Most Jasper content isn’t even that enjoyable. It’s mostly the same boring white-supremacist garbage that I’ve seen before; even the jalice stuff is played out.

The only J*sper content I enjoy is content where he is worshipping Maria, thinking about Maria, talking about Maria, loving Maria, doing anything for Maria tbh. Is that bad? XD I owe it to you and your writing! idk something about a 19/20 year old dumbass confederate falling madly in love with a native brown woman and literally seeing her as a god-like figure as she’s basically handing him his karma for his racist crimes sends me. Ppl act like he was this awesome person before Maria and that it’s her fault he’s gutter trash now with the C*llens but he was gutter trash BEFORE he met Maria. She honestly made him so much better, stronger and MUCH more interesting. She literally created the man these stans thirst over so much. She is the blueprint.

the thing anti-María Jalice stans don't get is, without María, you do not have Jasper. for everything Jasper is, María is the catalyst ❤️

canonically, all we know about Jasper Hale pre-change is 1) he was born in Texas, 2) faked his age to join the Confederate Army* where he became the youngest major in Texas, & 3) was persuasive

beyond that, María made Jasper into the man the fandom adores. you like that he's an empath? guess whose venom made him one. you like that he's a warmonger? guess whose war he fought for. you like that he has a troubled past? guess who put the trouble in it. you like that he's "soft" "empath" "baby" (tbh i don't see it but ok)? guess who made him want to be that way. you like that he's submissive to Alice? guess who broke him in first.

you want Jasper with Alice but wish the María era didn't exist? lol just say you want the hot faceless Confederate to get with the psychic Mississippian & go

as for me, MARÍA ALL DAY BAYBEEEEE

here we have a woman who has suffered all her life at the hands of colonizers. born "1800s or earlier," we can suppose she has firsthand experience with colonization (at least Napoleon's invasion) & lived through Mexico's War of Independence. i.e., she has a deep familiarity with what it means to have your way of life ripped from you by invaders. PLUS she was a victim of Benito's army in the Southern Vampire Wars; her entire coven including her mate was killed.

& despite her losses, she rallied to take back her land & drive out her oppressors. baseline, she is a strong, cunning, powerful indigenous woman with a deep love for her community and her people. HOT

now let's look at Jasper, a bright leader in the Civil War who suffered defeat at the hands of the Union army. yes, María changed him. but did she force him to stay? to go to war? the newborn vamp with the strength & speed to overcome a "grown" vamp chose not to do so. the empath with the power to make anyone disregard him chose not to use it. some say María was "abusive" & "manipulative," but few acknowledge that Jasper had a choice.

why didn't Jasper leave? because he's submissive to anyone more powerful than him. because he was a loser. because the Southern Vampire Wars gave him a second chance at victory. because "empath" or no, he wanted to play war & win.

that's what's compelling about Jasper/María. as wrong as Jasper was for fighting for the Confederacy, he believed he was fighting for the same thing as she. he saw his way of life destroyed by "invaders" & fought back. it's a sick & twisted parallel between oppressor & oppressed that becomes subverted as their relationship goes on... & one that can heal them both.

María's experience with colonizers gives her a visceral picture of what it means to be oppressed... but her relationship with Jasper gives her the victory & emotional reflection she needs to move on. Jasper's military training gives him the hunger & knowledge for war... but his "curse" of empathy provides him with the tools he needs to recognize & address the horrors of his problematic past & move on.

tbh, i find Jasper & María are perfectly suited for a delicious character-driven narrative. Maria's story is that of a traumatized indigenous woman on a path from colonization to decolonization, & the sacrifices & destruction she endures realize that vision. Jasper's story is that of a troubled man on the path from self-hate to self-love, & what it means to undo the societal teachings/traumas & forge a life of empathy & forgiveness.

& that is something Alice alone can never give Jasper.

tl;dr all hail Queen María

[polyamorouspunk]

Resources on Tenant Unions put together by KC Tenants

Link

[pinolitas]

ive been so bored needing a task to do and i signed up to be a citizen archivist with NARA and i just leave the tab of records im transcribing open so everytime i open my laptop im like oh yeah i can transcribe a page or two

[lillianforest22]

I know tumblr isn’t the place for a lot of content creator to talk. But i don’t care. Just cause we Arnt “professionals” yet doent mean these strikes don’t effect us. One thing I doing is I’m gonna make sure not to advertise for anything that is part of the major writing and acting. Even movies I’m exited for. It small and not a lot. But as someone who write stories and edited podcast and videos. Someone’s who makes original art. This is also about ai trying to destroy the arts. Avoided ai filters and sun writings. Writers google docs ain’t safe anymore. There starting up on there new “ai intergration” keep your works safe.

[pine-killer55]

Okay before i forget this idea:

Bttf fanfic or au or whatever, where doc decides to try out the time machine alone. After proving that it works (insert reference to the song from the musical here), he goes to visit his favourite time period - the wild west. He forgets to take plutonium for the trip back to the future tho.

Kind of like in part III, doc hides the time machine somewhere and tries to somehow communicate instructions for it's use to marty.

The best way for him to do it would be probably to just do it like in III abd leave a letter w western union, but that's boring so let's just pretend they lost the letter or something.

After marty doesn't return to the old west to get Doc, the scientist realizes that he has to get a little more creative with his messages and has to find ways to leave messages that will A. Last all those years and B. Won't be read by anybody besides Marty / are cryptic enough so that no one besides Marty can decipher what they mean.

Marty just wakes up on one fateful saturday in october to find that his best friend has vanished. He is devastated but soon starts finding weird and mysterious messages appearing in the strangest of places and can't shake the uncanny feeling that they are meant for him...

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '23 ⸺ 「 18 / 31 * LETTER 」

September 1, 1885

The longer he stares at the blank parchment laid out across his desk, the more inexplicably daunting the task before him becomes.

As soon as the ink hits the paper, this situation becomes set in stone. Final. His signature will seal his fate in a contract binding between him and the universe, the terms of which are known only to them and, in about seventy years, to Marty.

Emmett L. Brown becomes a figure lost to time under promise to guard against accidentally doing something to irreparably alter history and the knowledge of how to build another time machine stays trapped with him in the nineteenth century.

It has been eight months now since he arrived, welcomed by locals who knew nothing of his name nor his reputation and were willing to welcome him into their small growing community. As far as time periods to spend out his retirement years went, the late nineteenth century wasn't so bad.

Now all that was left to do was tie up the final loose ends that have frayed far into the future, well out of his reach.

The DeLorean and schematics are in place, waiting to be unearthed by his future-past-counterpart. The map is clear, as are the clues he'd left inside the mine.

The letter—

There's a twinge of regret in his chest as he lifts the quill from the desk. Eight months is a long time to have waited to write this letter, he knows, yet he also knows that so long as his calculations are precise, right down to the second, then the delay will be negligible in the grand scheme of things. He had to first exhaust all avenues before committing himself to a lifetime here.

Now that he has, there is the comfort that, for Marty, no time will have passed.

From here, the letter has a seventy-year, two month, twelve day journey ahead of it.

There are a hundred different ways he could start this letter, a thousand different things to say, and many of them involve reassuring Marty, first and foremost, that he is alive and unharmed. Even if the letter is only delayed by a few moments, a few minutes even, he knows his best friend's tendency to panic and assume the worst.

Marty would likely believe he was dead, and why wouldn't he? The DeLorean was struck by lightning and in a quite literal flash, he was gone, thrown backwards in time when the bolt overloaded the electrical system, destroyed the time circuits, and sent the car accelerating to eighty-eight miles per hour.

He dips his quill in the ink and begins to write.

Dear Marty: If my calculations are correct, you will receive this letter immediately after you saw the DeLorean struck by lightning. First, let me assure you that I am alive and well. I have been living happily in the year 1885 these past few months.

Emmett's brows furrow as he continues. Now that he's started, the words spill out across the page in swooping lines and splotches of ink when he's too impatient to wait. If he could, he would fill Marty in on the entirety of these last eight months, but there simply isn't enough paper for a full recount, so he condenses everything, relaying only the most relevant information that he thinks will paint a sufficient picture.

He still has his wishes to write, and in a spot of morbid humour, Emmett notes to himself how this almost sounds like a will.

By the time it catches up with him in 1955, he supposes it will be.

Do not come back for me, though I will miss you terribly, Marty. Watch over Einie for me. Destroy the time machine. This is all I need.

Marty's future is exceptionally bright and Emmett can only hope he will make the most of it. He's instilled in him as much positive reinforcement as he possibly could; the rest is up to him now.

Four pages and a set of instructions later, Emmett finally signs his name, neatly folds up the document, and hurries to the Western Union office.

A single man sits at the desk; a middle-aged gentleman with dark hair greying at the sides, a beard, and thick glasses. He introduces himself as Theodore as Emmett walks up to the counter.

❝How can I help you, Mister—?❞

❝Brown. Emmett Brown.❞

Something flashes in Theodore's green eyes. ❝You're the town's new blacksmith, aren't you? Thought you seemed familiar. What can I do for you?❞

❝It is imperative this letter be delivered with these precise instructions!❞ Emmett hands the instruction letter to Theodore, whose face scrunches up sceptically as he reads it.

❝Hold on a minute. You want us to hold onto this letter until❞—Theodore checks the paper again to be certain his eyes aren't playing tricks on him—❝November 12, 1955, seventy years from now, and deliver it to a kid on the side of the road in front of the...construction site of the Lyon Estate housing development approximately two miles south of the city limits at precisely 9:20PM. And your intended recipient is a five-foot-four, brown haired, blue-eyed boy named Marty McFly who is just going to happen to be standing there?❞

Theodore drops the page onto the desk and stares at Emmett like he's waiting for the punchline to some ridiculous joke. Emmett knows that look well; it is the very same look most of the residents of Hill Valley give him as they deem him mad and shuffle aside to give him a wide berth.

Emmett's resolve never wavers. ❝That's correct.❞

Theodore glances behind him to his colleague who throws a simple, entirely unhelpful shrug back. ❝I'll pay whatever the fee is to hold on to the letter that long,❞ Emmett says, and after a moment and at least four different expressions that pass across his face, Theodore lets out a long sigh.

❝This has to be the craziest, most peculiar request we've ever gotten. Alright, Mister Brown.❞ He shuffles a few papers around at his desk and produces a writing utensil along with a receipt and slides both over to Emmett. He taps a nail on the signature line. ❝Sign here.❞

[citrine-elephant]

seeing how garbage treatment is towards workers in my country and not being able to do anything about it on my own

the amount of health and safety neglect is driving me insane